Exodus 1:8 – 2:10
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Ordinary Time
First United Church – Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
I can remember Sunday School coloring pages from my childhood with pictures of Baby Moses blissfully floating down the river in a little woven basket. This always seemed like such a tranquil scene to me….sweet, happy baby, floating along, safe and snug in a happy little cocoon. I’m not sure if someone told me more about the story. If they did, I feel like it was something along the lines of, “Some lady found Moses floating down the river and took him out and hugged him.”
I don’t remember noticing in my coloring book the tears of his mother, streaming into the river, as she placed her child in a leaky, makeshift boat and prayed for his survival – all the while knowing in her heart he would most certainly die.
I don’t remember noticing his sister creeping in the reeds, just out of sight, and running alongside the basket – faster, faster – trying to keep up so she didn’t lose track of him.
I don’t remember noticing the trembling hands of the princess as she carefully and clumsily pulled the baby out of the water – knowing in her heart that taking in this baby was to risk the wrath of her father because this child was one of the hated ones and was supposed to be drowned.
I don’t remember hearing the voice of Moses’s sister, breathless from running but strong and and clear – faking confidence, perhaps – asking the princess if she should find someone to nurse the baby.
I don’t remember seeing any pictures in my coloring book of Moses’ mother breathing in his sweet baby smells as she settled him at her breast, heart racing as she glanced out of the corner of her eye at the princess, wondering if she would get found out.
I don’t know what Moses’ name was before the princess renamed him. I don’t know what his mother thought about the future for the three months she worshiped his soft skin and fuzzy hair in silence. I don’t know where you could hide a three-month old baby from the authorities.
There are a lot of things I don’t know about this story. One thing I do know is this: it ain’t what it was cracked up to be in the coloring pages of my youth.
Stories about babies aren’t necessarily stories for children. Well, at least they aren’t stories to be glossed over and left unexplained.
They are stories for children in the sense that they are stories for all of us. But a story like this one has to be told carefully because it is a story about some of the deepest evils that plague humanity – greed, slavery, racism, xenophobia, genocide, infanticide. But it is also a story about some of the greatest strengths of humanity – courage, sacrifice, openness to risk, creativity, and community.
What we see on the surface of a story isn’t always what really lurks just below the surface.
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I recently read the book Tomatoland by Barry Estabrook. In this compelling expose, Estabrook follows the life of the lowly store-bought tomato from planting to harvest to our tables. One thing I learned from this book is that there is a lot of story lurking just below the surface of a trip to your local grocery store.
When I walk into one of our many chain groceries here in Bloomington, I am overwhelmed by the choices I can make about tomatoes. There are tomatoes on the vine, off the vine, cherry tomatoes, grape tomatoes, Roma tomatoes and more. Sometimes you can even find “heirloom” tomatoes right there in the conventional produce section.
One thing these tomatoes have in common is something I already knew before I read this book. They don’t taste like much of anything. That’s why I never buy them. I’ve been spoiled by real, locally grown tomatoes and I’m a bit of a food snob, so I haven’t bought a tomato at Kroger in years.
What I didn’t know, though, were the stories of individuals that lurk just below the surface of these small, round, tasteless jewels. Since we’re on the subject of newborn babies, let me share with you the story of three babies born in Tower Camp – a labor camp for migrant farm workers just south of Imokalee, Florida.
In December of 2004, there were three women living in Tower Camp who were all expecting babies. Abraham Candelario and his wife Francesa Herrera were the first to give birth. Little Carlos, or Carlitos as they called him, was born just a few days before Christmas. Carlos was born with a rare syndrome called tetra-amelia syndrome. He was born with no arms or legs.
About six weeks later, the second expectant mother, Sostenes Maceda gave birth to a baby boy – Jesus Navarrete. Jesus was also born with an incredibly rare syndrome. A lower jaw defect which made it possible for his tongue to periodically fall into his throat, choking him and causing death. Jesus had to be fed via a tube.
And just two days later, the third and final baby arrived. Maria Meza gave birth to baby Jorge. Jorge was born with one ear, no nose, a cleft palette, one kidney, no anus, and no visible sex organs. After a careful examination by a doctor, they discovered Jorge was a girl and she was renamed Violeta. Violeta died when she was three days old.
Grief upon grief in this small community.
Three glimmering beacons of hope in a bitterly brutal day-to-day existence – three babies on the way! Three beds readied. Three mothers receiving gifts from friends and relatives. Three fathers anxiously and lovingly coaching their wives through childbirth. Three mothers reaching out with expectant hands to cradle their children. And three families absolutely shattered.
This shouldn’t happen, you’re thinking. One community can’t possibly have been dealt three tragedies like this at the same time.
And you’d be right. There is a reason these three babies were never given a chance to have a healthy life. These three babies were doomed from conception because of their mothers’ exposure to the pesticides the tomato industry requires in order to bring cheap, tasteless, perfectly round and red tomatoes to our grocery stores 365 days a year.
All three of these mothers worked for Ag-Mart Produce, Inc. This company grows and sells two types of tomatoes you may have seen on the shelves at the store. Sun Sweets are small cherry tomatoes that come in those clear clamshells. And their Ugly Ripe tomatoes are a type of heirloom tomato that you can sometimes buy in the conventional section right next to the plain red slicers.
All three of these mothers were systematically exposed to an entire cocktail of pesticides on a daily basis. They were not told about the risks of working with these pesticides. They were not given protective gear. In fact, they were routinely sprayed with pesticides from passing tractors – drenched in them from head to toe.
The women can remember feeling sick – dizziness and vomiting, burning eyes and noses, rashes and open sores on their skin. At least one of them tried to stay home from work to get away from the pesticides, but was told that if she didn’t want to work she would need to move out of her company-owned home immediately.
So if you think what happened to these three women was more than a coincidence – more than one community could reasonably expect to bear – you’d be right. And there is nothing about the tragedies of Carlos, Jesus, and Violeta that God intended to have happen.
Now that I know some of the stories behind the tomatoes at the store, I don’t see them quite the same way. Each time I walk past, I think about these stories and others. And when I go to a restaurant or a fast food place, I try very hard not to order things with tomatoes or to have them removed if I do order them.
Do I think that I am somehow fixing the lives of people like Abraham and Francesa, Sostenes, and Maria? No, not really. But at this point I’m not exactly sure what else to do about it except tell you and anyone else who will listen.
Faced with the enormity of evil in our economic and political systems, most days I just want to lay down and put my hands over my ears. For every tragic tomato story there are probably ten more about spinach and strawberries and coffee and beef and peanut butter and my iPod and my sweatshop clothes and my toxin-laced water bottle and on and on.
The one thing that keeps me from logging off and tuning out is this: I believe that we serve a God who specializes in bringing life and hope in the midst of broken systems.
Our God seems to almost have a sense of humor about breaking down systems of death – often choosing the least and the last to be the agents of grace and divine wrath.
If you read the book Tomatoland, you’ll see it all over the place. Little people living in their little worlds making little choices that, over time, turn into big choices and big ideas and big movements that make a big difference.
And if you look at the dramatic story of Moses’ birth, you’ll see it, too. In this story we have five women who make individual choices that affect the entire destiny of a people. First, the midwives, Shiphrah and Puah. And let’s not forget their names because it’s quite unusual that our narrator even gives them to us. Not even the Pharoah has a name in this story. Shiphrah and Puah.
It’s unclear if these two women are Egyptian women who serve as midwives to the Hebrews or Hebrews practicing midwifery among their own people. Regardless, what they do is exceedingly brave and stupid. Given a direct order from Pharaoh – who is, in this culture, literally revered as a god – they just outright refuse to comply and then lie to his face about it. What’s more, they somehow get away with it. Countless lives are saved because they put their own lives on the line and refuse to comply with evil.
Next we have Moses’ mother. She is not named in this passage, but I think it’s important to give names where we have them, so let’s remember her name, too. It was Jochebed.
I feel like her little act of insurrection was perhaps even braver than what the midwives did. I can imagine doing what the midwives did. I don’t think I’d have the strength to do what Jochebed did.
With the authorities breathing down her neck looking for Hebrew baby boys to drown, she carefully hid her son away for three whole months. Anyone who has spent three months falling in love with a baby knows this is an absolute eternity. And when she could no longer hide him, she prepared a little boat for him and sent him off down the river to an uncertain future.
We don’t know what she thought of when she was doing this. Did she hope someone else would find him? Did she think she was drowning him but believed it would be better to have her tear-stained face and whispers of love be the last thing she saw? We don’t know. And I don’t know how she did it.
The fourth woman of courage in this story is the princess, the Pharaoh’s daughter. She found the baby boy in the river and, when she heard his cries, felt pity for him. So she did the unthinkable, given her context. She held him and cared for him. What did her father think about this outright smack in his face? We don’t know. We do know that the princess knew this baby was a Hebrew – so she knew exactly what she was doing.
Finally, the fifth woman or girl is Moses’ sister. It may have been Miriam or it may have been another sister who’s name we don’t know. In a culture where she wasn’t even supposed to speak to the princess, she waltzed right up and cleverly found a way to reunite her baby brother and her mother. The woman who, earlier that day floated her son down the river, never to see him again, is suddenly reunited and paid wages to mother her own child. Imagine that! Getting paid to take care of your child?!? Not a bad end to the day, all things considered.
Each of these women acted without knowing what the others would do. And yet each of these five women, by their own choices, wove together with their sisters a story where this one Hebrew child would not be killed.
Instead he would become Moses – drawn out of the waters of danger, drawn out to one day return and draw his own people out and across a river to freedom.
This story of holy coincidence – of various lives intersecting – is not the only place in our Scriptures where we learn of God’s great power to draw us out in surprising ways for the good of all.
Remember a story about another little baby? He was born into terribly dark times, hidden away for his own safety, nurtured along by mostly unglamorous individuals weaving together a cocoon of safety at his birth.
The birth of Jesus Christ illustrates many of the same things we learn from the birth of Moses.
God is not intimidated by dark times. God is not pushed aside by evil systems of brokenness. The world may continue to deal in the ways of death, but God is always working in the ways of life. Quietly whispering into the lives of women and men from all walks of life – those with names and those without, children and adults, weeping mothers and strong midwives, those who look like Disney princesses and those who have nothing.
God draws us out from the waters of brokenness. God sends people – everyday women and men, boys and girls, to whisper words of grace into our ears as we float down the choppy waters of life.
And this chorus of voices speaks to us God’s dream. A dream that we will each one day make choices that will draw our sisters and brothers out of their own dangerous waters.
